The Resulting Passion
by Tidia
Summary: Completely inspired from Draw Your Sword by Blood From The Thorn. What happens if Athos did become angry at learning that d'Artagnan knew his wife and the result of Athos's actions. SPOILERS FOR 1.10
1. Chapter 1

The Result of Passion

By: Tidia

Beta: None, just me so I own my errors.

Important Note: Draw Your Swords by Blood From The Thorn is one of my favorite stories, and it got me thinking. I ran it by Blood From The Thorn who graciously gave me permission and then entertained my million ideas. LOL So, here we have a different Athos. Three parts and away we go. Thank you for all the kind comments, readings, faves, etc. It is all appreciated and inspiring.

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Part 1

They convened away from the garrison and prying eyes at Athos's home with multiple wine bottles at the ready as Athos took off his locket, placing it at the center of the table along with the box they had found in the assassination attempt.

"Forget-me-nots?" Aramis asked, his finger gently tracing one of the dried flowers.

"My wife's favorite." Athos drank from the bottle needing to numb himself as he revealed so much. "I thought her hung by my order as the Comte for killing my brother, for her deception, but she survived and is now an agent for the Cardinal." He drank more, swallowing more than breathing.

"I'm sorry, my friend." Porthos was grim, looking towards the others to provide some footing. There were no platitudes that could be offered.

d'Artagnan stared at the pressed flowers, eyes widening.

"I need to stop her. Set things right." Athos put the bottle down. "We need to stop the Cardinal, his devious plans and to save the Queen."

"We need a plan," Porthos added.

"Treville knows?" Aramis asked, his hand reaching slightly forward on the table in support of his friend. Athos nodded. Treville had known from the beginning that he had punished his wife. It was more difficult to explain how she was alive, wreaking havoc with the Cardinal.

d'Artagnan licked his lips. "Does your wife have dark hair, a scar on her neck?"

Athos's eyes narrowed at the accurate description. "Yes. She has been going by the name de Winter and Madame Chappelle. Do you know her?"

d'Artagnan slowly nodded, looking down in avoidance. "When I first came to Paris after my father—I met her and allowed myself to be seduced by her."

"That seemed like a good idea?" Porthos scoffed, shifted closer to Athos.

Athos appreciated the support. He stood in reaction to the revelation, chair scraping the floor as he turned his back, going towards the window. "And?" He thought of d'Artagnan and Anne laughing at him. He could not stop the thoughts, and hoped their relationship went no further than the seduction.

d'Artagnan raised head. "With Vadim she killed the guards, she scared Constance, and was my benefactor, but it was the flowers she left—"

"Stand," Athos gritted out. When d'Artagnan did not move fast enough Athos placed his hands on both sides of the table, lifted it, then barked. "Stand, traitor!" d'Artagnan by his own words had made himself an accomplice in his wife's nefarious crimes and espionage.

"Traitor?" d'Artagnan followed the order.

"One who betrays. The Queen was almost killed because of her," Aramis clarified, showing his unsuitable overprotection stemming from his affair. "Your dealings with that woman-"

"My wife, a murderess." Athos circled him, trying to control his anger for the young man who had deceived him. d'Artagnan had been the only one he had trusted with the story of his home, sworn him to secrecy only to have him in leagues with Anne. His wife only knew cruelty.

They were all standing, but Porthos and Aramis were giving space to d'Artagnan and Athos. "It was a mistake. I had no idea." d'Artagnan tried to find salvation in his words. "I sent her away."

"Draw. Your. Sword." Athos unsheathed his blade. He was not convinced. There was a plot against him, which only d'Artagnan's death would bring to an end.

The younger man did not know how to react; looking to the two other men he found no support. Aramis and Porthos would stand with Athos.

"Athos," d'Artagnan beseeched.

"Draw your sword," Athos repeated. Athos's rage would be the Gascon's undoing. This was a match d'Artagnan would not have a chance in winning regardless that it was misguided passion rather than his mind, which was ruling.

d'Artagnan's defense was insufficient as Athos was relentless in the limited space that had d'Artagnan trying to avoid corners in order to extend the fight.

The slice to the younger man's unprotected forearm cut deep enough to cause d'Artagnan's hand to release the blade. d'Artagnan's other hand went to staunch the flow of blood as Athos kicked his blade away and charged at the Gascon, pinning him against the wall. A sweep at his legs had d'Artagnan falling; another kick had the Gascon on his knees.

Athos took in deep breaths of air as he readied himself to deliver the killing blow. He drew the blade back to bring this all to end. Anne could not poison another person against him. He would stop the conspiracy one person at a time.

Aramis pushed Athos causing the blade to slice d'Artagnan along the younger man's clavicle towards his upper arm. "You don't want to do this, Athos." Aramis held the blade in his gloved hand.

Athos pushed past the sharpshooter to get back to d'Artagnan. "He had relations with my wife. Betrayed us. . ." He pointed the blade again as the younger man had not moved from his knees.

Porthos came up from behind Athos, physically moving him away from d'Artagnan. "Step away."

Aramis put his hands up between d'Artagnan and Athos. "He made a mistake before he even knew us. He didn't know us, didn't know she was your wife."

Athos struggled momentarily against Porthos's grip and Aramis's words. His breathing sped up as the red haze dropped. He watched d'Artagnan stumble to his feet to grab his sword, his hands then attempted to staunch his wounds. "What have I done?"

He had broken the bounds of friendship and brotherhood, almost destroying someone who only had given him respect. His wife, their passion had led him to a total disregard of control to favor embroiled emotions that were directed at the wrong person. d'Artagnan had not known there was a connection. His mind had taken him down a dark path.

"Are you all right?" Aramis asked, and Athos wanted to hear the answer, needed the answer.

The young man looked down, made his way to the door.

"d'Artagnan, I-" Athos called out to nothing.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The Resulting Passion

By Tidia

Notes: Still thanks to Blood From Thorn for allowing me to run away with her fic Draw Your Swords. Wow, thank you for the reviews! I have no idea why I want to hurt d'Artagnan. I really like all the characters and think they are great. There is one more part after this. I hope you continue to enjoy.

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Part 2

d'Artagnan did not know how he made it back to the garrison. The guards had probably thought him drunk instead of injured. In his room he found the bottle of Armagnac made near his home in Lupiac. It was a sin to use it for his cuts, but being stronger spirits he thought it would help to heal the wounds.

He drank some before focusing on the injury on his forearm as he sat at his table. He inserted the needle, pulled it by the thread, then repeated. Limited to using his left hand made the process slow going, and the stitches were not nearly as well as they should have been, but the point was to close the wound. It was rare that he sewed human flesh, but it was no different except for the pain.

d'Artagnan was shaking when he finished, smearing a salve from Lupiac instead of bandaging the cut, unsure of how he would tie it. He took another mouthful of the Armagnac.

The other wound was worse when he looked at it in the looking glass. The cut was to the bone. Athos kept his words and blades sharp. He hissed when he cleaned it again, trying to squelch the nausea that arose. He washed his hands before splashing water on his face with one hand to revive himself. This was no time to collapse, or think about the loss of his friends, which spilled into the effect on his commission.

He started again with thread to needle to skin feeling a twist in his gut as he stabbed himself repeatedly. It was a long, deep cut. He'd be unable to wear his pauldron until it healed, no matter though since he had left it at Athos's home along with his jacket and musketeer blue cloak.

Exhausted and bloodied he made it to his bed with the assistance of the wall and chair. He left his boots on, since he felt light headed and craved oblivion over comfort.

((()))

They had sat in silence with the glow of a candle for company allowing the bottles of wine to finish stupefying them. Their actions had been deplorable along with frightening. The fourth chair was empty except for the cloak, jacket and pauldron that marked d'Artagnan's absence and Athos's guilt.

"What have I done?" Athos asked with his head down between his arms.

Aramis shook his head, wishing he had intervened from the beginning instead of adding to the accusations. He had blamed d'Artagnan for the attack on the Queen. "We've all done. We made d'Artagnan culpable for the wrongdoings of others."

"You stopped me." Athos lifted his head, his eyes filled with remorse and guilt.

"Only in the last moments," Aramis said quietly. He carried regret.

Porthos hoarded a bottle in front of him. "What are we going to do?"

There was no rest to be found, no solace in drink or company. They had wronged one of their own. Aramis stood up, moved to the cloak and pauldron that d'Artagnan had left behind when his attention was diverted. "There's blood. Too much blood. He was heavily wounded." Aramis had seen the injuries, but the wounds did not register fully.

Porthos turned in his chair, as Aramis pointed to the handprint, the blood on the floor. "Why did we not or he. . .Never mind."

"We have to find him." Athos stood, grabbing d'Artagnan's belongings.

The only place to find d'Artagnan was at the garrison, and the evidence of the blood on his door was relief to Aramis that the young musketeer had at least made it to his destination. The door was locked, but Porthos pushed them aside, and with a dagger opened the door to let them in after soft knocking resulted in no response.

Athos found a candle and lit it, showing the evidence of the bloodied water, looking glass, needle, thread and cloths. d'Artagnan was huddled on his bed with boots still on.

Aramis took the candle and lit another one, using it to study d'Artagnan. "He stitched himself." It must have been difficult for the boy, but the stitches were neater than expected. The one on d'Artagnan's forearm did not need much tending except for a bandage, but the one across his upper torso was of concern, oozing and deep. "Porthos, I need some boiled water."

Porthos had started clearing the mess that d'Artagnan had left behind on his table. It gave him something to do. "I'll bring it up as soon as it's ready."

Athos pulled a chair by the young man's bedside after carefully and silently pulling off d'Artagnan's boots. He placed a hand on the injured man's brow. "He has a fever."

"To be expected." Aramis spoke in hushed tones. He pointed to the deeper cut. "This needs more tending." He saw Athos paling. "He has a good heart. He'll listen to your apologies, to all of our apologies." Aramis made it his prayer.

"Would you? After you had been betrayed and attacked?" Athos rubbed his eyes. "He is but a boy. Why did I not see that?"

Aramis squeezed Athos's shoulder. "Your wife and your rage for her clouded you. And as for me and Porthos, we are fallible men jaded to believe the worse in the others."

Athos placed a hand on top of d'Artagnan's hand.

Porthos returned with the water, one with steam and one without. "We're fixing this. Right?"

"I'll take the hot water if you can sponge him down and see to his temperature," Aramis stated with another silent prayer of intervention this time to the Blessed Mother for d'Artagnan's health.

They spent the rest of the night tending to d'Artagnan who remained locked in his fevered dreams, speaking words in Gascon they didn't understand. Aramis felt it meant the younger man was calling for help to deliver him.

"Stop, Athos," d'Artagnan called out. Athos flinched at his name being yelled.

"His fever is getting worse." Athos wiped the younger man's brow again, keeping to his ministrations.

Aramis shook his head. "I won't bleed him or cauterize him, Athos. Please don't ask me."

"I won't," Athos agreed. He could not imagine inflicting more pain, or asking his friends to be the source of it. "I don't want to hurt him either. It this enough?" He replaced the cloth on the younger man's forehead.

Porthos came in, keeping busy by bringing water, food and whatever Aramis asked for. He had heard the end of the conversation. "I brought more cold water. How about soaking a sheet and covering him with it?"

"That could help." Aramis grasped on to the idea as a way to d'Artagnan's salvation.

((())))

It was late morning when d'Artagnan showed signs of stirring. Athos had left his side earlier to explain to Treville that their planning was postponed because of his actions. Treville showed sympathy and anger all at once. Athos guilt intensified threefold.

Aramis assured Athos and Porthos that d'Artagnan would wake soon. "Can I ask that I be given some time alone?"

"We'll be outside." Porthos guided Aramis to the door.

With his hands folded Athos waited for d'Artagnan to wake. When it happened Athos had a moment where d'Artagnan did not remember, then it came crashing in on the younger man.

"Have you come to finish me?" d'Artagnan's hand went to the wound on his clavicle that Aramis had tended until he felt satisfied no infection would set in. It was bandage with significant padding.

Athos put his hands up to show he had no weapon. "No! God no, to apologize for my actions."

d'Artagnan blinked, closed his eyes in exhaustion. "At least I'm alive to hear it."

Athos protested. "I would never-"

The younger man opened his eyes, there was a quiet anger simmering. "Yes, you would have."

"I am sorry. I told you she killed my brother, and she is my madness as I am hers." Athos shook his head.

d'Artagnan looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to Athos. "It's all madness," he whispered. "Can we end it? Stop the Cardinal and your wife?" he croaked.

The grating sound of d'Artagnan's voice carried hope, and had Athos passing him the cup of water Aramis had left. "Yes."

d'Artagnan slowly drained the cup. "How are you here? The door was locked." He wiped his eyes.

"Porthos let us in. There was blood…They are outside," Athos explained, and took d'Artagnan's silence as an allowance to invite Porthos and Aramis inside the room.

Aramis led the way with Porthos shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You will be tired for a while, but the wounds will heal." He removed his hat. "Will all the wounds heal?"

"He means we shouldn't have let that happen and we're sorry." Porthos nodded, presenting his cape, lying at the foot of the bed while Athos placed the pauldron on top.

d'Artagnan seemed to study them, weighed his options. "When I first came I battled all of you and yet you still welcomed me. I think I can accept your sincere apologies this one time."

"Only one time?" Porthos smiled, bumping Aramis.

"That's all that we need." Athos bowed his head, humbled by the forgiveness.

Aramis cleared his throat. "We still need a plan."

Porthos turned to Athos. "Are you providing the wine?"

Athos looked at d'Artagnan for confirmation that he was willing. A short nod was all he needed. "I will make sure to provide a good vintage."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The Resulting Passion

By Tidia

Disclaimed that I in no way profit from the BBC show, Musketeers.

Notes: Many thanks and much appreciation to all that you like this story and want to discuss this story/characterizations. Warm greetings to Gaelicspirit and That Girl Six from SPN! Enjoy :)

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Part 3

They reconvened in the evening, checking in on d'Artagnan. Aramis rechecked the wounds, cleaning them and changing the bandages. The young musketeer seemed better and ate some food as plans were discussed.

Aramis proposed the initial idea of a love triangle, which Athos was loath to use, but accepted setting up a scenario in the town square.

When he shared the idea, Aramis shrugged. "It's a good plan."

"But?" Athos prompted.

Aramis stroked the edge of his beard before answering. "I don't believe it, so your clever wife won't believe it either."

d'Artagnan had participated in the planning, accepting his role, but only after the others convinced him it was the best plan available. His hand went towards his clavicle and its soreness. "I guess the only way is for you to shoot me."

"Not amused," Athos stated with a quick dismissal.

"He's right," Porthos glanced between Athos and d'Artagnan.

d'Artagnan sat up, wincing as he held his hand firm to his wound. "I am? What?"

"If you shot him then I would believe it," Aramis agreed, focusing on Athos's reaction.

Athos shook his head. He drank from the bottle he brought with him. "I can't."

"A flesh wound in the arm." Porthos gestured to his own arm. "It's nothing. d'Artagnan?"

Aramis moved to sit next to the younger man. "You would have to heal first."

d'Artagnan nodded, letting his hand drop from his wound. "I'll agree to it."

"No, we'll find another way. I can't." Athos stood up and began to pace. "It's too much to ask."

Aramis joined Athos, a hand on his arm. He would broker this plan. This was how they worked together so well for so long. "There's a lot at stake. It's not just about your wife, but the Cardinal and his plans against the Queen."

"I know," Athos said quietly as he closed his eyes.

The moment remained suspended with all of them thinking it through, the ways it could all go wrong. It was d'Artagnan who realized he had to break the impasse. "I'll be fine. A shot in the arm, a graze."

"That's the spirit!" Porthos rubbed his hands together.

Aramis gave Athos a half grin along with squeezing his arm before letting it go. "Athos?"

It was barely a nod, but enough that they had a plan whose execution will be painful physically and spiritually.

((()))

It was a month later and no amount of preparation and practice had readied Athos for the exact moment when he pulled the trigger against his friend. d'Artagnan's arm was raised so Athos changed the shot, or believed he willfully changed the shot. He didn't know, seeing only red with Porthos and Aramis covering the wound on d'Artagnan's side.

When the street was cleared Athos allowed the shaking to overcome him.

Aramis and Porthos buffered him, coming to his side to walk with him toward the garrison as an escort. Treville had already gone to his office. "What happened?" Aramis asked.

"I thought it was supposed to be a graze to the arm." Porthos kept his voice low.

Athos did not have any answers that would satisfy himself or his friends. He had excuses. "Will he be all right?"

"Yes, she called a physician." Aramis hid his hands with d'Artagnan's blood clinging to them.

"What happened?" Porthos repeated the same question.

Athos waited until they are in the garrison, heading up the stairs to Treville's office. "Authenticity." At the top of the stairs, he backed up so he was against the wall. His friends crowded around him. "I had three bottles of wine. It took three bottles for me to be able to shoot him."

"Athos. . ." It was the pity in Aramis's voice that bothered him most.

He did not deserve pity with what he set in motion from the first day he was beguiled by Anne. He searched his soul finding his intentions in the plan did not get swayed. "I know. You don't think I know what that boy must be thinking. On top of what I did with the sword."

"We have to wait." Porthos manhandled Athos towards the door. "Come on, the Captain has to do his part now."

((()))

Porthos had gained patience as a musketeer while Athos needed to be distracted. Treville had brought the news that d'Artagnan was well and in Milady's care. The next step would be the young musketeer's entrance.

He enjoyed acting like a peacock, preening with his friends about their might until Treville called them inside. They all studied d'Artagnan's movements to see if the injury was troublesome.

"The wound? Are you well?" Aramis ghosted over the Gascon when they were away from prying eyes.

d'Artagan batted the sharpshooter away, while keeping a hand on the gash on his side.

Athos though would not be deterred. "I apologize. My aim was off."

"It's been tended to." The young musketeer huffed. He raked a hand through his hair. "You didn't mean it. It was different this time."

"The fact that you can tell the difference is disturbing." Athos ground out with a determination to keep making amends.

"If it makes you feel better, your wife wishes you dead. I get to shoot you." d'Artagnan smiled, clapping Athos on the back.

"He seems to be relishing the idea," Porthos said to Aramis. "But with my idea he won't get to break the skin."

(())

When it was done there was more than the fall of the Cardinal and the protection of the Queen. There was the kidnapping of Constance, her return to the dolt of her husband and the news of the Queen with child.

They sat at their table, d'Artagnan's hand went absently to his side, however the others saw the motion.

"Has that bandaged been changed?" Aramis asked, gesturing to the wound.

d'Artagnan dropped his hand. "It's fine."

"You didn't answer the question." Athos's voice was low.

Porthos intervened, pulling d'Artagnan to standing. "Let Aramis see it and be done with it. We will get our way."

"Fine." d'Artagnan playfully shrugged off Porthos's grip.

Aramis gestured to his room, and d'Artagnan took a seat pulling off his shirt. There was dried blood on the bandage and some new blood in a spot that seemed to have recently stopped growing.

"I'll soak it a bit first, but my guess is that some stiches have opened." Aramis placed a wet compress on the bandage until it was saturated. Aramis untied it, and pulled it away.

"That doesn't look good," Porthos commented. Quite a few of the stitches had opened. The mark was also pink and puffy. "I think you should take Athos up on his offer to get a slice in."

"Maybe your next match you could lose?" d'Artagnan laughed, then winced as Aramis cleaned the wound.

"I have to re-stitch this, and I have a salve that should stave of the infection so any sword fighting will have to wait." Aramis grinned. "Athos's pride will not allow him to lose to you anyway. You will have to win fairly."

Athos frowned. He expected and wanted them to be angry with him. "How can you joke about this?"

d'Artagnan looked away as Aramis placed a stitch. "Because we survived, and I will always carry the scars with me. You may even see them again.

"You're not a real musketeer unless you have bled a few times," Porthos added, then pulled up his sleeve. "I remember the time…" he trailed off when he noticed no one was paying attention.

Athos stood firm, his stance one of impending battle. "Just accept I did you harm?"

The young musketeer gestured to the wound on his side grimacing when the last stitch was tied off. "For the sake of France."

Athos's eyes bore onto the recent scar on d'Artagnan's clavicle. "And the other time?"

d'Artagnan was thoughtful. "For the sake of brotherhood."

The former Comte had told these men his deepest, darkest secret and they did not push him away. Athos had felt lighter, clearer since he released the rage he tried so hard to control for so long with spirits. Perhaps he was liberated by it, which allowed him to let his wife go instead of killing her. He was humbled by the sacrifice d'Artagnan had made for him with blood. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had unconditionally accepted him as one who was worthy. "Brotherhood."

The end


End file.
